Somewhere Along the Line
by pennylayne
Summary: Number eight in the A Very Thin Line series. Spot and Race are back, and they face getting older, their children growing up, and still a lack of acceptance.
1. Oldie McOlderton

"So, Maria, sweetheart, I just want you to remember... the dorms here can get kind of wild, and a little bit out of hand sometimes... well, more than sometimes... and I don't know who your roommates are going to be, but just know that no matter what your roommates might tell you, you _don't_ have to go to every party," Racetrack says, shuffling his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks around Maria's new dorm room. "Or _any_ parties, really. It's perfectly okay to spend the night in your room, y'know, with a good book or something."

"Daddy, I know you're worried about me, but I'm not going to become a social leper just so you can protect me.." Maria kisses her father on the cheek, closing the last drawer in her dresser. "Besides, how much trouble can I get in while I'm here?"

I smirk, but don't say anything. I just stand with my back against the wall and look back fondly on my days in these dorms.

Racetrack smiles. "I know, but I have to give you The Daddy Speech. It's like official first-day-in-the-dormitory law."

"I'm surprised you haven't changed the student handbook yet. Page one-sixty-two, paragraph four, line seven: 'There will be no touching, looking at, or even thinking about Principal Higgins' daughter.'"

I laugh. "Hey, you know what? That's really not such a bad idea, Race. You know, we've still got time to change the handbooks."

"Don't give him any ideas, Spot," Maria scolds me.

"Spot?" I blink at her. "Since when do you call me Spot? What happened to 'Dad?'"

She shrugs. "Slipped, I guess. Sorry. Dad."

"Well, we'll let you get settled in, and leave you alone so you can meet your roommates without us embarrassing you." Racetrack pulls Maria into a hug and presses his lips to the top of her head, keeping them there for a good ten seconds or so.

"Daddy," she says, rolling her eyes and laughing a little. "You live all of five minutes away from the school and you're the principal... it's not like I'm off at college across the country."

Racetrack pulls away, sighing. "Sorry, princess. It's just... well, you know." He strokes her cheek, shaking his head. "Stop by my office after classes or during lunch or something tomorrow, if you have time, okay?"

"Okay." Maria smiles and turns to me. "Bye, um, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart." I hug her and kiss her cheek. "Don't stay up too late tonight. Trust me, it's a very bad idea."

"Do you two ever quit?" She ushers us out of the room, saying something to the tune of "I love you" as she closes the door.

Racetrack stands outside the door for a little while, staring. "My baby's in high school. Boarding school."

"Yes, and tomorrow, she'll tell you all about her new boyfriend Spike and his motorcycle and the cocaine habit she just picked up." I grab his arm, pulling gently. "Come on, let's go home to our empty nest, get drunk, and make complete asses out of ourselves, okay?"

He nods sullenly. "Okay."

I lead him out to the car, laughing a little on the inside... but only on the inside. Outside I'm totally serious and understanding. Racetrack is depressed because now his son, Anthony Junior, is in college at Stanford, and Maria is starting her freshman year at Pulitzer's and is required to live in the dormitory, even though Race is the principal there and lives just a few blocks away from the school. Race dotes on Junior and Maria, and so their leaving home is especially hard on him.

"Look on the bright side," I say as I pull into the driveway. "We've got the house to ourselves. Now I can walk around the house bare-ass naked without scaring Junior's girlfriend."

Racetrack just stays silent and climbs out of the car.

"Come _on_, Race, quit being such a sourpuss." I pinch his cheek and head into the house.

He follows me into the house and shuffles into the living room, plopping down onto the couch with a sigh. "I can't help it. I'm all alone," he says pathetically."

I roll my eyes and smack him in the back of the head. "You're not alone. You got me, you idiot."

"Ow!" Race rubs the back of his head. "You better run, Conlon." He gets up and glares at me.

"Oooh, I'm terrified. Shaking in my boots." I grin mischievously at him. "You'll never catch me, old man."

Race shakes his head and starts to sit down.

"That's right. Sit down, and I'll get you your prune juice, Oldie McOlderton."

Suddenly, he jumps over the back of the couch and charges at me. I take off running, ducking into the bedroom and diving behind the bed.

Race comes in the door. "Come out and play, you bloody coward," he says, walking slowly past the bed.

I grab his ankle and pull him down to the floor beside me.

"Oof!" He lands with a loud _thud_, glaring at me. "Watch it, Spot! I'm not sixteen anymore, damn it!"

"Right, sorry. I forgot about your hip replacement." I roll my eyes. "Race, we aren't exactly young anymore, but we certainly aren't out of our prime yet. You can quit being Daddy now. You can just be Race."

"I'm gonna be black and blue by the end of the day, thanks to you," he grumbles, rubbing his shoulder and making that pouty face that I love.

"Aww. You want me to kiss it all better?" I push his tee-shirt sleeve up and out of my way and kiss his shoulder, then move up to his neck, kissing his cheeks and ears and forehead. I end at his lips, smiling. "Anything else need kissing?"

He smiles back. "I bet I can think of a few more things."


	2. Midlife Crisis

"I heard Principal Higgins is gay... like, full-on gay."

"He's got two kids, how can he be gay?"

"Well, he's divorced, right? What if that's _why_ they got divorced... 'cuz he's gay and was having an affair."

The voices of students float into my office as I prepare for class. Smirking, I tiptoe into the classroom behind the students. I lean in, saying in a low voice, "I hear Mister Conlon is, like, best friends with Principal Higgins, and tells him every little rumor he hears about him."

The students whip around, eager to find out who's talking to them, and their eyes widen when my face registers. "M-Mister Conlon," the first one stutters. "You heard us?"

I grin. "This is the music room, my dear, little friend. The acoustics in here are _amazing_. I hear _everything_." I stroll to the front of the classroom, chuckling to myself. "So, are we ready to start class?"

--

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Race sighs, leaning his head back against the backrest of the couch. "They're spreading rumors about _me_ now? God, that's going to get back to Maria and then what's she going to do?" He rubs his hands over his face, shaking his head. "Why can't they just spread rumors about each other, like normal teenagers?"

"Because there's no such thing as a normal teenager at J.P.'s. And anyway, Maria can defend herself." I shrug and put a hand on his knee comfortingly. "But suppose she decides not to lie about it. And why should she? It's perfectly normal to her."

"I'm going to lose my authority," he groans as he drops his hands from his face into his lap.

"I bet the students will all still be afraid of you," I offer.

"No... no one's going to respect me now."

"Quit being such a fucking whiner, Race," I snap, and he looks at me in surprise.

"What?"

"You need to stop with all the damned self-pity and complaining. Are you going through some sort of midlife crisis or something?" He glares at me indignantly. "Oh, come _on_, Race. You're _forty_. Your life isn't anywhere near over yet."

"Spot, I..." He sighs and shakes his head.

"You're pathetic. Snap out of it. You're not old, you're not weak, you're not losing your touch. None of that is going to change if people find out you're gay." I push at his knee a little, sighing. "I want my old Racetrack back. Where'd he go?"

Race sighs, yet again. "He's been taken over by someone who doesn't know how to control his own life." He shrugs. "I don't know what to do about it. It's like everything that made me who I was packed up and left somewhere along the line."

I node and slide my arm around his shoulders. "Well, let's see if we can't get it to come back, huh?"

"Okay." He leans his head on my shoulder, curling into me a little bit. "Sorry I've been such a drag lately."

"It's alright. We'll fix it. Just know that if it ever happens again, I reserve the right to completely kick the shit out of you."

"Deal," he says, leaning up and kissing me.

--

"Maria," I call, knocking on the door of her dorm room. There's no answer, so I knock again, and still, nothing. I try the knob, and it's unlocked, so I walk in. I'm prepared to just set the box of Maria's stuff down on the floor and leave, when I hear a gasp.

I look over and see Maria laying on her bed, half-naked, with a boy, also half-naked, laying on top of her.

"What the hell is going on here?" I set the box down and stride over to the bed, grabbing the boy by his belt loops and yanking him up. "Get off my daughter, you fucking punk."

The boy grabs his shirt and pulls it on as he runs out the door, and Maria scrambles up, pulling on her own shirt and buttoning her pants. "Maria, what are you _doing_?"

"What are _you_ doing? Who said you could just barge in here?"

"Your door was unlocked and I figured no one was in here, seeing as you didn't answer when I knocked." I bite my lip, shaking my head. "Does he even _go_ here?"

"No. Not that it's any of your business." She crosses her arms over her chest, fixing those moody brown eyes on me.

"It _is_ my business. I'm your father." I sigh. "Maria, what were you thinking? Not only are you breaking the rules about having non-students in the dorms, but... well, just, _what_ were you _thinking_?"

"I was having some fun." She sets her jaw, still glaring at me. "And you have no right to be in here."

I scoff. "And why not?"

"Because!" She storms over to the box I brought over and picks it up. "You brought over the box and that's all you came here for, so now you can leave."

"No, I think we need to talk, Maria."

"We do not. Get out."

"Maria. I'm your father, and--"

"You're not my father!" She's screaming at me now. "Get _out_!"

Okay. Ouch.


	3. Drama Princess

When Junior started school at Pulitzer's and wasn't living at home anymore, Racetrack came up with the idea of Sunday family dinners. He's carrying on the tradition with Maria, though Junior won't be able to join us. She has reluctantly agreed to come home for dinner on Sundays, but has a very sour look on her face when Race leads her in the front door.

"Hi, sweetheart," I say, pulling her into a hug.

"Hi, Spot," she replies, patting my back. Racetrack clears his throat and I feel Maria's shoulders tighten. "I mean, _Dad_."

Racetrack stands in the entryway, staring at us for a moment, then rubs his hands together. "Alright, well, who's hungry? I made lasagna." Maria nods and goes into the dining room to set the table, and as she leaves, Race arches an eyebrow at me. "What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing. It's just... nothing, don't worry about it." I shrug and work up a smile.

"And you try to tell me I'm a bad liar."

"Well... okay, we kind of got into a little bit of a fight yesterday when I went to drop off that box of her things she forgot. But everything's okay, she's probably still just a little bit peeved at me."

"She looks more like she's ready to kill you than 'just a little bit peeved.'" Racetrack crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me with the same expression he gives to Junior and Maria when he knows they're bullshitting him. "What did you fight about?"

"Um... I kind of walked into her dorm room, and she kind of wasn't alone."

"_What_?" Oh, shit. Yeah, I just told an Italian man that his only daughter was caught in a compromising position with a man she wasn't married to. "Who the hell was she with?"

"I don't know. Some kid, he doesn't even go to Pulitzer's. But I think I walked in before anything could really happen." I bite my lip, wishing his face would stop being that weird shade of red that it is right now. "But that's not even the worst part of it, Race."

"Oh, right, because my daughter possibly having lost her virginity so completely isn't the worst part. Please, Spot, do continue, I'm dying to know what could possibly be worse than that."

"Well, after I kicked the kid out on his sorry ass--"

"Thank you." Race sighs and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I knew you'd appreciate that. Anyway, we were arguing, and I don't know if she was just angry or if she really meant it, but she was screaming at me, and she said I wasn't her father."

Racetrack suddenly stops looking so pissed off and looks at me, his mouth hanging open a little bit. "Ouch."

"Yeah."

"We'll talk to her about it after dinner."

"I don't think that's really necessary, Race," I say, shaking my head. "I mean, I bet it'll blow over soon enough and everything will be fine and it'll be like nothing even happened."

"But what if it doesn't blow over, and everything isn't fine? I can't have you two fighting like this, it just won't work." He starts heading into the kitchen. "We'll talk after dinner."

--

Dinner drags by mostly in silence, punctuated by the odd question here and there about school or life in the dormitories. Maria, normally a little chatterbox, doesn't seem to have much to say about anything and as soon as the meal is over, she gets up and promptly clears the plates. Race and I head into the living room and sit down, listening to the noises from the kitchen as Maria washes off the dishes.

"Princess," Race calls from the couch, "can you come in here?"

"Yeah." Maria shuffles in, and Race pats the cushion of the couch between the two of us. She rolls her eyes and plops down, looking from Race to me. "What's going on?"

"I should ask you the same question," Race says. "I'm not even going to bother asking what a boy who doesn't even go to Pulitzer's was doing in your dorm room, okay?"

Maria blushes, hanging her head. "Sorry, Daddy."

"I don't think I'm the one you need to be apologizing to." Race runs a hand over Maria's hair, sighing. "So what's this 'you're not my father' stuff I'm hearing about?"

She shrugs, raising her eyes to me. We make eye contact for barely a second, but the look she gives me is one of the coldest I've ever seen. "Well, he isn't."

Race blinks, his eyebrows slowly knitting together. "Maria, Spot's been here practically your whole life. He loves you and he helped raise you. I'd say that makes him just as much a parent as it does me, wouldn't you?"

"That's like saying Stephen is a parent to me, Daddy. Just because he's with one of my parents doesn't make him my father." Stephen "Pie Eater" Masters is Maria's stepfather, though the word 'father' doesn't really fit in there. He married Caroline, Racetrack's ex-wife, and dragged her and their son Robert out to Maine, and so Maria and Junior see their mother maybe twice a year, on certain holidays, if they're lucky. Stephen has this theory that if they aren't his kids, he shouldn't have to take care of them.

"Yeah, well, Spot actually took on the role of your parent. That's what sets him apart from Stephen. They're entirely different."

"Not really." Maria crosses her arms bad-temperedly over her chest and scowls at the wall across from her.

"Maria," I say finally, "what's going on? Why are you so mad at me?"

She turns to me, glaring. "If it weren't for you," she says, her jaw clenched tightly, "Mama and Daddy would still be together. And my life would be _normal_. I would be _happy_."

"Now, Maria, that's not true... you know things were falling apart between your Mama and me before Spot even came into the picture. We were really doomed from the beginning." Racetrack sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Then why'd you even marry her if it wasn't going to work, Daddy? Why build a life with someone when it's all just going to fall down? Why have kids when all you're going to do is throw their lives off-balance?"

"Baby, your Mama and I were very young when we got married. We figured we were more in love than any two people on the planet could possibly be, and I, personally, was running away from the way I really felt. I made a mistake, I'll admit that, but I think I did my best to correct it." He puts his arm around her, looking at me apologetically from over the top of Maria's head. "Besides, I'm not the only one who screwed up the relationship; your Mama had an affair, too. That's how Stephen and Robert came into the picture."

"Yeah, I know, but at least Mama and Stephen and Robert aren't really anything to be embarrassed about." Maria sighs, looking pitifully up at Race. "Daddy, there are rumors going around school about you. I... I don't even know how they started. But people keep coming up to me and asking me if it's true that you're... you're, y'know, gay. And you always told me it's not okay to lie and I don't know what to say anymore!" Her big, brown eyes are brimming with tears, and I can't help but feel a little bit terrible for her. "Besides, if I go around school calling Spot 'Dad,' people are going to wonder. They're going to ask questions. I can't handle any more questions, Daddy." She sniffles, tears spilling down over her cheeks.

"Oh, sweetie." Racetrack pulls Maria against his chest, stroking her hair. "Look, I know it seems like everything's just going to shit right now, but it'll all be okay. At school, you don't have to call Spot 'Dad.' You can call him 'Mister Conlon' like everybody else. Right, Spot?"

I nod. "Right."

"But what about when he comes to my dorm room?"

"Well, you can just tell everybody it's a Mary Kay Letourneau type thing," I say with a smirk, and Racetrack reaches over and smacks me in the back of the head.

"Who's Mary Kay Letourneau?" Maria looks over at me, wiping her eyes.

"Never mind, sweetie," Race says, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, Spot really only goes to your dorm room with me, so it doesn't look all that suspicious, I guess. Look, we'll figure this all out, okay?"

Maria nods. "Okay."

"Everything's going to be fine."

"If you say so, Daddy."

--

I offer to drive Maria back to the school, and the ride, though it's not that far, seems impossibly long and drawn-out by the heavy silence between us.

At a traffic light about halfway to the school, I sigh and look over at her. "Look, Maria, you know I love you."

Maria continues staring out the window; I wouldn't think she even heard me if it weren't for her flat reply of, "Yeah, I know."

"And you know I'd do anything for you."

"Sure." She fiddles with the end of her sleeve, apparently very interested in the streetlight outside the window.

"So next time you have a problem, you can come to me." I reach over and put a hand on her forearm, squeezing gently. "Even if it's a problem with me. I need to know when you're not happy, so I can help fix it."

"'Kay." She slumps down lower in her seat, trying to masquerade pulling her arm away from my touch as simply adjusting.

I close my eyes for a moment and exhale, and then the light turns green and I keep driving. Maria doesn't waste any time as I pull up to the front of her dormitory.

"Goodnight," I say as she climbs out of the car. "I love you."

"Yeah, 'night," she says, slamming the door shut and jogging up the steps of the building.


	4. Cracking Up

Monday evening I come home by myself and am not particularly happy about it. That's the problem with Race being the principal at Pulitzer's – he has to deal with every little thing and that means a ton of extra hours for him; and then, being the stubborn Italian that he is, he won't let me stick around and help out. So I have to drive home in the rain and wait for him in our empty house. _Alone_.

To make things even better, no sooner have I come in the door and hung my coat up than the phone is ringing. I sigh and trudge into the kitchen to pick it up.

"'Lo," I grumble, leaning against the counter and staring sullenly out the window at the rain-drenched backyard.

"Hey, Dad," says a voice that sounds like a younger Racetrack, thick accent and all. This actually makes me smile a little.

"Well, hey, Junior." It's been a while since Junior called... Race will be sorry he missed it. Good, now I'll have something to hold over his head (like it's hard to hold _anything_ over his head anyway...) and make him feel guilty about. Is that wrong of me? "How's Stanford and sunny California?"

"Sunny. It's actually starting to get a little irritating." Junior chuckles. "But Stanford's good. Keepin' me busy."

"Good. You still got your four-point-oh?"

He doesn't think I'll notice, but I can hear the proud grin spread across his face. Racetrack does the exact same thing. "Yeah, I think I'm managing to hang onto that so far."

"That's my boy." I smile and close my eyes; I miss having someone around the house who doesn't drive me up the wall.

"So, the old man around anywhere?"

I give an exaggerated sigh. "No. He had some 'very important' business to take care of at a staff meeting which I apparently did not need to go to."

"Uh-oh. Maybe they're talking about you behind your back." Junior has that tone to his voice that his father always has – like there's something that's positively hilarious but you're not privy to hearing him laugh.

I roll my eyes. "Nah, I'm pretty sure he's firing the photography teacher."

"Miss Kaiser?"

"No, she quit at the end of last year... got pregnant and wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. This new one is some sniveling little wimp named Jonathon who doesn't know what the hell he's doing." I laugh a little. "I really wish I could be there. I'd give anything to see the look on his face when your pop lays into him. I hate that guy anyway."

I hear Junior laugh. "You've got a sick sense of humor, Dad."

"Yeah, well, I've come to terms with that." I smirk.

"That's what disturbs me about you." He gives a happy little sigh; I can tell he's more than a little bit homesick. "Well, could you tell Daddy I called?"

"You betcha," I say, smiling. I find it so completely adorable that Junior, a boy of almost nineteen, is still comfortable calling his father "Daddy." He doesn't even do it to be cute or to differentiate between Race and myself, he just does it because it's how he was raised. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... that is, it would if I were capable of feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside, which I'm not, because I'm a manly man. Or something.

"Oh, hey, before I forget," Junior says, "are you and Maria okay?"

"Yeah, of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?

"Well, she called me up last night and was complaining about how you've ruined her life and you think you're her father and you're being totally unreasonable and won't keep your nose in your own business... you know, that whole fifteen-year-old, 'life is unfair,' over-dramatic... _thing_." He chuckles.

"Oh, she's just mad because I won't let her fool around with random boys in her dorm room." I shrug and shake my head.

"She was _what_?"

"Yeah, I went over there to bring her some of her things and she had some half-naked, half-witted hooligan in there with her."

"What?" Junior gasps. "Who was it? I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna fly out there and fuckin' _kill_ him!"

There's that Italian blood slipping through the cracks. I can't help but smile; he doesn't let his roots show too often, but when he does, it's really the cutest thing ever. "Watch your mouth, Junior," I say, though admittedly, purely for good measure. "Anyway, Maria flipped out on me a little, but I think we're okay now."

Junior sighs on the other end of the line. "Dad, I gotta go. I gotta call Maria and rip her a new one before I head to my evening classes."

I'm trying not to laugh. "Be nice, Junior."

"I can't make any promises."

"I'll have Daddy call you later, okay?" I'm still stifling giggles that are threatening to escape.

"Yeah, fine." He sounds thoroughly pissed off.

"Hey, Junior?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"I love you, kiddo."

"Love you too. Bye." He hangs up, and as I set the phone back in the cradle, I erupt into a fit of laughter that I don't quite understand how I was able to control for so long.

"What's so funny?" I look up and Race is standing in the kitchen doorway, and I forget that I was even angry with him in the first place.

Catching my breath, I shake my head. "Nothing," I say, still chuckling under my breath. I walk over to him and put my hands on his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Call your son after dinner." And I head into the living room, still grinning.

* * *

**A/N: I know this chapter seems pointless, but if you look closely, you'll understand why it's important.** **I'm sorry it's been so long - school is really kicking my ass, and I've been doing a lot more writing on my fiction LJ than I have on FFnet. I'm going to try to make more updates, though. Just don't expect too much from me and you won't be disappointed.**

**I still love you guys, though, I promise. You're all super-duper important to me. Your reviews mean a lot, even when they're just kind words rather than suggestions. So I'm looking forward to hearing from all of you. - Layne**


	5. Test of Faith

It's my free period, and usually at this point in the day I'd be kicking my feet up on my desk and enjoying a soda and a muffin from the staff lounge as I flipped through the papers that my sorely mistaken students have written about how people like Gerard Way and Pete Wentz were musical geniuses in their heyday, but today I have other things on my mind. So I take my soda and my muffin, forgetting about Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance (as it was meant to be), and head out through the maze of corridors to Race's office.

His secretary, Natalie, gives me a flirtatious smile and a nod to signal that he's in his office. I poke my head in and watch him for a moment, his back turned to the door and the phone attached to his ear. He's arguing with someone, and it's hilarious to see how flustered he gets.

"No, it's not because I enjoy ruining your retirement. You're not even really retired anyway; you don't spend any time gardening or going on cruises or spoiling your grandchildren."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and I can hear a high-pitched shrieking coming from the receiver. The words are unintelligible, but the voice is unmistakable: Medda.

"I wasn't calling you old! You have grandchildren! What the hell, Medda?" He sighs and shakes his head, thumping a fist a couple times on the arm of his chair. "Look. All I'm asking is that you come in and teach." There's a pause and even through the back of his head, I can see him smirk. "Our current drama teacher is a blithering fool who thought it was a good idea to stand under a loose stage light, point up, and say, 'I think that's going to fall.'" I hear him laugh, and I smile. "Well, it did, and it broke his leg in two different places. He'll be out for the rest of the year."

Race rolls his head from side to side and clears his throat. "I'll give you full-time pay, artistic license with the school plays, and the right to kick my ass every time I get out of line." Medda says something to make him laugh, and he thanks her, mutters an "I love you, too," and hangs up. There's a surprised look on his face as he spins around in his chair and sees me. "Well, hey."

"You have an odd relationship with that woman," I say, smirking, as I stroll in and plop down in the chair in front of his desk. "Medda's coming back to sub?"

"Yeah, through the year. So what's up?"

"You talk to Maria yet this morning?" I take a bite of my muffin, not caring when crumbs tumble to the carpet.

"No, why?" Race gives me a puzzled look as he reaches across the desk to tear a hunk out of my muffin.

"She wasn't in my class today. And generally she's too scared of you to skip my class."

Race's eyebrows knit together and he scowls. "Hmm. I don't know." He chews the muffin thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Well, why don't you go talk to her at lunch?"

"Students are in the dorms at lunch. They'll question the presence of someone who should have no real interest in Maria."

"You're a concerned teacher. Plus, you have to take her classwork to her anyway, so it doesn't matter." His phone rings again, and he sighs. "I have to take this. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

I nod and get up, heading for the door. "Love you," he says before he picks up the phone.

Smiling, I mouth it back at him and walk out.

--

I never really had a use for the phrase "brisk walk" before, but that's definitely what it is from my classroom to the dorms. October is on its way out and there's a definite bite to the air; I wish I'd grabbed my jacket before I left my office. Shivering, I slip through the front doors and stop to bask in the heat before heading for the stairs.

It's been over a month since Maria's whole "I hate you" phase, and I'm hoping that this visit won't result in her screaming about how she needs therapy because of me or anything. You never know with that kid.

I knock on the door, and one of her roommates opens it. "Oh, hey, Mister Conlon," she says, her voice a mix of cheeriness and confusion. "What's up?"

"Is Maria around?"

"She's, uh..." Her roommate blushes. "She's not here right now."

"What do you mean she's not here? She missed class this morning, where could she possibly be?"

The bathroom a couple doors down opens, and Maria steps slowly out, wiping her mouth. She's pale and faintly green, but she still seems to have enough strength to glare at me. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, kid. You okay?" I reach out to stroke her cheek, but, remembering her roommate, hand her her classwork instead.

"I'm fine," she says, taking the papers and swallowing hard, like she's trying not to vomit again. "I think I just have food poisoning or something."

"Have you gone to the nurse?"

"No."

"Come on, I'll take you."

"D-- Mister Conlon, you don't have to do that. I'll be fine. I just need to rest. Sorry I missed your class."

"Maria, you don't turn that color just from food poisoning. Come on. We're going to the nurse." I take her arm and head with her down the hallway.

--

"She's been in there for, like, an hour." Race is pacing outside the nurse's office, chewing his lip and shoving his hands in and out of his pockets.

I look at my watch. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"Shut up, Spot." He slumps against the wall. "She probably has, like, salmonella or something. Or leukemia. Oh, my God."

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't have leukemia, Race." I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. "She's probably just got the flu. She's okay." He relaxes, just barely, but I can feel it.

Patricia, the school nurse, slips out the door and quietly closes it behind her. "Tony," she says, "how much do you know about Maria's extracurricular activities?"

"Well, she's in jazz choir twice a week, and I know she's active in the GSA club, um, she volunteers in the library, she's auditioning for the fall play, and she has a study group every Thursday night from five to nine." He drags a hand through his hair. "She's doing too much, isn't she? I shouldn't have let her do so much. She's probably exhausted. My poor baby."

Patricia just stares at him, a sad look in her eyes. I look from her to Race and sigh.

"Race, I don't think that was what she was referring to."

"Huh?"

"Tony," Patricia says again, her voice gentle and smooth, as she places a hand on his arm. "I need your permission to give Maria something."

"What?"

"I need to give her a pregnancy test."

Race's eyes roll back in his head and I don't even have time to catch him before he hits the floor.


	6. Spike

"Maria Antonia Carlotta Catalina Higgins!" Race huffs out, and even though I'm just as pissed off as he is, I still find it amazing that he can get all those syllables out in one breath. Who the hell names their kid that, anyway? And how did it even fit on her birth certificate? I actually kind of feel bad for her, having a name that's bigger than she is.

Racetrack breaks off my chain of thought to continue his tirade. "How could you do this to me? Worse, how could you do this to _yourself_? What about your _life_? You have so much ahead of you and you've just gone and fucking ruined it!"

"Daddy," Maria squeaks, sinking further into the couch. "Daddy, it's not that big of a deal, it won't even be that expensive if I just get an a--"

"Don't you dare even say it," he snaps. "We are _Catholics_. We don't do that sort of thing." He shoots an icy glare at her. "You know what else Catholics don't do? _Have sex before they're married_!"

Maria stands up and squares her tiny shoulders, like a miniature boxer preparing for a fight. "Isn't there something in the Bible about a man not laying with another man?"

"Oh, don't pull this 'boo-hoo, my father is gay' shit with me now, Maria. It's not going to work and I'm just not in the mood for bullshit," Race shouts, pointing to the couch. "And sit back down!"

Maria obeys and looks down at the floor, wiping at her eyes as they begin to overflow. I see Race's face soften, if only for a second, before he goes rigid again. "Who's the father, anyway? Do you even know?"

I wince at the last comment and elbow him gently in the ribs. He has every right to be angry, but that was just uncalled for.

Maria looks up in shock. "Of course I know who the father is! I'm not some two-bit whore, Daddy."

"Coulda fooled me at this point. What's his name?"

"Everybody calls him Spike."

I can't help but laugh. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Race just throws up his arms and leaves the room.

--

A week later, Race is pacing in front of the door, waiting for Spike and his parents to arrive for dinner and a very stern talking-to. He's not in a good mood.

"What the hell kind of parents raise a child who goes by Spike? What's wrong with these people?"

"I think you have more in common with his parents than you think, Daddy," Maria says from the couch, flipping nervously through a magazine.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Race sighs. "You know what? Just... don't even talk for the rest of the evening. I'm still too pissed at you to hear anything you have to say."

"Race!" I snap, glaring at him. "Would you stop? It's not helping anything." Before he can respond, I take Maria by the arm. "Honey, why don't you come help me in the kitchen? You can, um, toss the salad or something."

Despite everyone's bad mood, Maria snickers. "Oh, shut up," I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and going into the kitchen.

"Do you think Daddy'll ever forgive me?" Maria asks as she pours dressing and cheese onto the lettuce.

"He'll calm down, I promise." I stir the pasta in the pot and lean against the counter. "Honey, your Daddy is just going through some things. He's worried about getting older, and the fact that he's going to be a grandparent, well, that isn't going to sit easy with him. Especially since you're only fifteen." Maria turns to look at me, frustrated. I shrug. "Well, it's not like I can change that. I can't ignore it, either, sweetheart. I love you, but you made a very bad decision. You're way too young for this."

She sighs and stares into the salad for a moment, then looks back at me. "It's not like I chose this."

I lay my hand on her cheek, patting it gently. "Yes, Maria, you did."

"They're here," Race calls from the entryway, and Maria grabs my hand as we walk out. I can't help but smile.

My smile, however, turns into a look of sheer shock as I see who's standing in my doorway.

Flanking the aptly-named Spike, who is dressed in leather and metal with his hair gelled up every which way, are two very familiar men.

Adam "Skittery" Michaels and Oscar DeLancey look equally surprised to see us.

"Well," Skittery says, looking Race and I over, "at least our little hellian chose to fool around with the daughter of decent people."

--

"So, young man," Race starts after dinner, sitting directly across the coffee table from Maria's boyfriend.

"Spike," he grumbles back, glaring down at his glass of water.

"Marcello," Skittery corrects.

"Marcello, huh?" Race smirks. "That's a good name. Tell me, Marcello, do you intend to marry my daughter?"

Marcello scoffs. "Hell no," he says, his New York accent far too exaggerated for this area of the state. It sounds Brooklyn-gangster, and we're far, _far_ from Brooklyn. "I ain't never gettin' married."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Maria," Race says, rolling his eyes. "Couldn't you have at least fooled around with someone who speaks English?"

Marcello starts to rise out of his seat. "Look here, you little guido piece of--"

Oscar, having been silent all evening, shoots his arm out and grabs Marcello by the collar, yanking him back down. "Listen, kid, I don't care how pissed off you are, you will respect this man in his home."

"Pop, he's talkin' to me like I'm stupid or somethin'!"

"You _are_ stupid or somethin'," Oscar says, rolling his eyes. "You knocked up his daughter. He's got every right to be pissed off at you." He looks over at Maria, smirking. "Though I don't blame you."

"Anyway," I interrupt before Race can lash out at Oscar and probably get himself killed, "how are you two planning to support this child?"

Maria shrugs. "I guess I didn't really think about it."

"I got plans," Marcello says coolly. "I ain't got time to take care of some kid."

"And what, pray tell, are those plans?" Racetrack sits back in his chair and smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, I gotta finish bar-tending school and then I'm goin' into the Marines."

"What do you intend to do in the military?"

"Kill people," Marcello replies, without the slightest change in his expression.

"Gee, I'm so glad you're the father of my grandchild. Now, what do you intend to do when you run off to join the Marines and we sue you for back child support?"

Marcello just sits there, dumbfounded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Skittery smirk. When I look at him, he stifles a laugh and clears his throat. "Looks like you're going to have to change your plans, Marcello."

"You can come work at the garage for me," Oscar says. "I'll put you on the payroll, you'll start out at minimum wage."

"But Pop..."

"Don't argue, kid," Skittery snaps, his gentle nature suddenly broken through. "This is more important than any stupid plans you'll ever make. We raised you to be a decent person, and damn it, you're not going to throw that away now." He stands up and grabs Marcello by the ear. "Let's go. We'll keep in touch," he says to Race and me, then marches with his son out to the car.

"My boys," Oscar says with a smile, before nodding to the three of us and following Skittery outside.

--

The evening has finally wound down, and with Maria sulking in her bedroom, Race and I have a moment alone as we get ready for bed.

"You okay, Race?" I ask as I pull my pajama pants on.

"Not really," he grumbles, crawling into bed.

I follow suit, laying down next to him. "Everything's going to be okay."

"How can you say that? My fifteen-year-old daughter is having a baby. She's in the best school in the state and she has a great future ahead of her, and she's pregnant. I'm going to be a grandfather at forty."

"You'll be forty-one when the baby is born," I offer.

"God damn it, Spot," he sighs, turning his back to me. "You're not helping."

"Neither is your sulking," I mutter.

"Well, excuse me for being upset because my life is going to shit."

"Your life is only going to shit because you're letting it."

Race sits up and glares at me. "Can't you just spare me your uplifting philosophical bullshit for one night?"

"Race--"

He climbs out of bed and walks over to the closet, grabbing a pillow and blanket.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sleeping on the couch. Maybe then I'll get a little peace."

He turns off the light as he storms out, slamming the door behind him to leave me in the dark and silence.


End file.
